


It's My Life

by GoldenJackal



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenJackal/pseuds/GoldenJackal
Summary: Seven years ago the Hero of Olympus left to forge his own path. No more Gods, no more monsters, no more quests, and no more prophesies. He's no longer the hero they once knew, he's a different kind of hero now. He's Perseus Jackson, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, Demigod…Avenger?





	1. Once Upon A Spy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to the story. My name is GoldenJackal and this is not my first time writing. Believe it of not I've been on this website before, fell out a little bit, but now I'm back and I've brought a boat load of new ideas along with me. But this right here is the first one (and its a good one if I do say so myself). So I hope you like it, and if not well...I do appreciate advise, but please if you don't like my story just stop reading it. No one's forcing you to stick around. I've worked hard in this chapter and I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I enjoy writing it.

It was a beautiful starry night in Paris, France. The full moon casting its silver light upon the streets below, gleaming off the famed Eiffel Tower. Every street lined with people of all shapes and sizes; some local, some tourists. Nothing but a flourish of movements, no two exactly alike yet all moving together in a unique harmony, a beautiful imperfection.

A party was taking place in a luxurious hotel ballroom with a view overlooking all the city of lights had to hold. It was an elite party, you could only get in by invitation and only those of the highest status had been lucky enough to receive one. The entry way was a flourish of fancy gowns and expensive suits. Greetings and introductions were being traded, hands were shaken and smiles were shared. A beautiful string quartet ballet flowed from the double mahogany doors as laughter filled the air. Couples waltzed across the large dance floor and business deals were discussed over a bottle of 1865 Chateau Lafite.

The host, one Matteo Motte, was a young man with sleek blond hair and wide brown eyes. He had a slightly pointed nose and a wide jaw that would have been distracting had it not been for the large mustache on his upper lip. Motte was only twenty-six and was to receive the family fortune with the passing of his uncle, Antonio Motte. The Motte family had been in the law business for years, and owned a thriving world-renowned law firm. That is until Antonio developed a bit of a gambling problem, before his passing he managed to gamble away over half of the family fortune, bankrupting them. Their law firms were put out of business and the families reputation destroyed.

Until three months ago when the account numbers jumped from zero to three million in one night. Of course this had peaked the interest of several government agencies and a great deal of socialites. Rumors had run wild, everything ranging from drug dealing rinks to selling his soul to the devil for a quick buck. Motte had of course waved these rumors off as nonsense and assured the public that he’d managed to stow away some of his families fortune where his uncle couldn’t get to it. This had appeased the publics curiosity and with no proof to the contrary the government agencies had dropped the case.

All but one that is.

The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division wasn’t that easily fooled. They knew something was amiss the second they dug into the case. It was found that, while he hid it well, Motte had been receiving monthly payments from an off shore account. It was suspected that the man had gotten involved in the crime rink to regain his family fortune and drag his family name out of the gutter, but without hard proof the man was untouchable. Of course, with S.H.I.E.L.D on the case it wasn't over until they had what they were looking for.

\------~------

A slim women made her way across the dance floor, a glass of red wine at hand. Her frame fitting black dress fell down to the floor and complimented well with her head of fiery red curls that fell down to frame her face like a flaming waterfall. It looked as if she had been pulled directly from a fashion catalogue. She fit in quite well with the flashy party gowns and expensive decor, it was because of this that no one so much as batted an eye in her direction.

She brought a hand up to her ear under the pretense of fixing one of the flashy diamond earrings. The communication divide was hidden well, unnoticeable unless you were truly looking for it.

“Target in sight,” her voice was soft and delicate. Not what one would expect from a professional assassin.

“Are you in position?” Her voice was well hidden among the noise of the party goers.

“Position locked,” a voice spoke through her earpiece, one that was distinctly male, “Black Widow you are go for confrontation.”

The woman’s glossy red lips pulled into a smirk and her wine glass found its way onto a passing waiters tray. She expertly weaved through the throng of people, making her way towards the bar.

“Bonjour madame, wat iz it I can get for you tonight?”

She gave the bartender a glamorous smile and leaned forward ever so slightly,“kangaroo cocktail, lemon hold the olive.”

The bartender, whose eyes had wandered just a bit too far, nodded,“ Of-of course madame.” He turned just a bit to quickly and went about making her drink without so much as a glance towards her. The woman laughed quietly to herself, she always seemed to have that effect on men. She’d grown use to it over the years, learned to play it to her advantage. That’s why she was sent in instead of one of her male colleagues.

She swiped her drink off the counter and once again dissolved into the crowd of party goers only to reappear at the side of the one and only Matteo Mote.

“I am so sorry about that Mr. Mote,” she spoke while dabbing a napkin across the man’s chest, a broken glass lay not a foot away.

The man cleared his throat, “eet iz quite alright madame…”

An almost breathless “Oh” escaped her lips as she straitened up once again and brushed at the invisible dirt specs on her impeccable dress.

“Its Rushmore, Mr. Mote, Natalle Rushmore,” a small breathtaking smile followed by the batting of long lashes.

Motte smirked, “no need for formalities Madame Rushmore. Eet was, after all, an accident. Please call me Matteo. Eet iz a pleasure to meet a woman such as yourself.”

A light blush stained her cheeks, “why thank you Mateo, but let me assure you the pleasure is all mine.” He took her hand and placed a light kiss on the back of it.

“Though I do wish it had been under different circumstances. I’m absolutely horrible after my third martini.”

“Ah, but madame eet really iz no trouble.”

The woman sighed, “I just feel that I owe you an apology.” She stepped closer and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“There must be some way I can make it up to you,” her hand crept up so that it rested on the back of his neck and her other hand found its way to his bicep.

“If you’ll let me that is.”

Motte’s lips turned up into a smile, “Of course madame Rushmore.” He turned and offered his arm

“It would be my pleasure.”

\------~------

Motte's Law Firm was a large office building standing at least fifty stories high. The light of the full moon shone off the buildings glass windows. It was dark inside, not a speck of light could be seen from the streets below. Though there wasn't a person around to tell you that. A dark shadow was cast on the world around Motte's Law Firm, a night-time breeze wiped though the air ruffling the leaves of the few trees in the area.

A shadow crept through the darkened alley way on the buildings north side. The person was of average hight with a lean yet muscular build and they moved as if the shadows were a part of them. Not a sound was heard as the person fiddled with the service entrance door and slipped inside.

Another shadow crept across the rooftop of the same building. This one slightly taller than the first with a similar build to the figure on the ground, though this one seemed to have something on its back, though without proper lighting it was impossible to tell what it was. Then the figure too disappeared.

"I'm in," the soft voice echoed through out the wide atrium. It was dark and still much like the rest of the building. The staff had left hours ago and, if their information was right, the security detail didn't do patrols at this hour. They'd already set the security cameras on a loop yet the young man-made sure to stick close to the wall.

"Me too, top floor," the gruff voice that responded was undoubtably the same as the one who had responded to the red-haired woman at the party.

"Copy that, meet you in Motte's office."

"Hawkeye out."

With that settled the man began to slowly move along the wall, sticking to the shadows. His foot steps were near silent on the marble flooring, but due to the cavernous ceiling even the slight scuff of a boot could echo throughout the room. A single streak of light shone through the large front window. The man's path just so happened to lead him through this very point. As he passed if anyone had been looking they would have just been able to make out a pair of sea-green eyes that seemed to glow in the dim lighting and raven black hair as untamable as the ocean.

He stopped in front of a door, a sign on the front depicted that it was the stairwell. Jiggling the knob a few times before deciding it was indeed unlocked and wouldn't set off any sort of silent alarm. Getting to the 33rd floor by stairs wasn't an ideal situation, but when on a stealth mission one could not simply take the elevator.

He stuck to the shadows the entire way up, slipping past the cameras, just incase. But really getting to the 33rd floor wasn't that difficult, easy was never good.

The floor itself was nothing special. A spacious hallway that seemed to go on as far as the eye could see decorated with standard office building decor, fake plants and atrocious paintings. The walls were painted a plain beige but the carpet under his feet was soft and plush under his knee high combat boots and muffled his footsteps much better than the marble in the lobby.

The man reached up and press a hand against his ear, "Hawkeye, I'm here, North side."

For a second static was his only reply, then. "Me too. Just touched down, meet me in the office."

The office they were looking for was much different than the others. The door and walls around it were made of glass and the man could see the glow of a computer screen from down the hall. As he got closer he was able to make out the figure of a man hunched over the computer typing away.

The man was a few years older than the first. In the light of the computer you could see the man’s caramel blond hair. He was dressed from head to toe in black wearing a skin-tight sleeveless top and skin-tight pants. A bow and arrow slung across his back and a pair of sunglasses over his eyes despite how dark it was outside.

He spoke as the other man got closer, "This thing is armed to the teeth. Encryption's, firewalls, codes, this could take hours."

"It better not, Clint. Who knows how much longer Nat can keep his attention."

The other man snorted. "Percy please, Nat knows what she's doing."

Percy nodded as he knelt at Clint's side. The computer screen was nothing but a jumble of blue letters and Clint's rhythmic tapping of the keys only added more to the mix as he tried to break through the companies firewall.

Every agent was required to learn basic coding and hacking skills, but some had a greater knack for it that others. Percy was not one of those agents. Oh he had plenty of other talents. He was an excellent field agent, an outstanding lock pick, and knew exactly how to blend in with a crowd. But he couldn't hack to save his life, he blamed the ADHD.

A cold shiver ram down his spine like a breeze on a cold winter day. Percy's head snapped away from Clint. Sea-green eyes went about scanning the room for intruders. He could feel eyes on him but he couldn't find their location. Rising from his crouch in one fluid motion, Percy turned slowly.

"Clint," his voice was little more than a whisper, his lips barely moved, "we have eyes on us."

There was barely a pause in his typing.

"Where?"

Percy's eyes darted around the room. To an untrained eye all would have appeared still and silent, but to an agent the oddities were easy to spot. A slight shift of movement outside the window, a scuffle from the shadows, a flicker of light in the hall.

"Everywhere."

"Cover me."

For a moment everything was still…then. The window burst raining glass down on the occupants of the room, gun shots rang through the still night air. Percy pulled out his gun.


	2. No Rest For The Weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally just wants her son to stay safe, Stark's a pain who can't stay out of trouble, Coulson really shouldn't be calling while he's on vacation, and all Percy really wants is a nice cup of coffee.

"Yes, mom… Yes, I'm sure I'm fine," twenty-one year old Percy Jackson assured his frantic mother as he unlocked the door to his apartment. He was covered in ash from head to toe, clothes ripped practically to shreds, a Kevlar vest peeking out beneath the remains. A light thump echoed throughout the apartment as the door was thrown open. The apartment was large and spacious with a view that looked over New York City and all it glory. He kicked the door closed behind him before toeing off his boots and tossing his keys on the side table.

"… No mom, I'm not hurt…" he flicked the TV on before dragging his sore and beaten body to the kitchen. A light chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head.

"… Mom, if ninjas were real I think they'd have better things to do than stalk S.H.I.E.L.D agents…"

"… Yes, yes, I'm sure…" the coffee machine light went from red to green and a soft gurgled filled the room "...How've you been, I haven't seen you in two months? How's Ella? And Paul?"

The young man smirked as his mother launched into a story about his eight year old sister and her plans to join the school play next semester. As the coffee brewed he went on a search to find something to fill his empty stomach, but was disappointed upon opening the fridge. Some leftover takeout, a half jug of milk that was most defiantly spoilt by now, and beer, lots and lots of beer. Not to mention the horrific smell coming from it all. He wrinkled his nose and sighed, he'd have to go to the store tomorrow. For now he was pretty sure there was some soup in one of these cabinets.

"… Of course, I'd love to go… Yeah, just send me the date…" he flipped open another cabinet and was rewarded with a can of vegetable soup. Not the ideal dinner, but he'll take what he can get. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he poured it into a bowl "…I'll make sure to keep the ninjas away…"

A chuckle burst passed his lips as Sally scold him from the other side of the phone. He knew she wasn't really mad, the smile in her voice could be heard a mile away.

"… How are you doing mom? Everything alright with the baby?" two months ago Paul and Sally Blofis had been surprised to hear Sally was pregnant with another child. It happened just a week before Percy was put on the Paris assignment so he hadn't heard anything since. He was glad to hear that everything was going well.

A low beep echoed throughout the kitchen as Percy stuck his soup in the microwave and the bitter sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet he filled it until it was practically overflowing. He downed it in seconds before pouring himself another. Slumping into one of four kitchen chairs and he took a long, slow drink.

A content sigh escaped his lips as the warm liquid slipped down his throat. His mother was still on the phone even though he hadn't responded for quite some time now. He felt bad about that, but he really didn't think he could respond now anyways. The rate at which she was speaking had increased significantly and his muddled brain was having trouble making out exactly what she was saying.

He was just about to cut off her tirade when his microwave decided to let out an annoying high-pitched squeal.

Percy groaned as he hoisted himself off the old kitchen chair. Steam rose off the dish in waves, it was far too hot, but Percy was too hungry at this point to care. A third cup of coffee was poured before he turned to the living room.

He could've eaten his soup at the table, but, while he didn't have any serious injuries, his entire body ached and the stiff kitchen chair was starting to make his butt sore. So he shuffled over to the couch, snagging the remote on his way, and practically melted into the cushions.

"Hey mom," he'd cut her off, but he hadn't been able to make out a coherent sentence for quite some time now. "I have to go, but I promise to come visit soon…Love you too, tell Ella and Paul I say hi… Alright bye."

He set his phone on the side table, then proceeded to shove as much vegetable soup into his mouth as possible. When he'd turned the TV on earlier, it was set to the Channel Six news station. Percy didn't much care for the news, but he found the story they showed to be rather funny and ironic. In piercing High Definition the 32" flat screen showed an image of a rich man being led towards a police car, the noise of the sirens blaring from the speakers as lights flashed in the background. A caption scrolled along the bottom of the screen reading_ Motte Meets His Match_.

The picture shifted to a slender blond woman standing just feet away from the scene. Her sparkling green eyes stared directly into the camera as she brought the mic to her lips.

_"This is Alica Gray, Channel Six news, and I'm here reporting live from the Motte mansion in Paris, where famed business man, Mateo Motte, is being led away in handcuffs. It appears that Mr. Motte was trafficking in illegal drugs to gain back the fortune his uncle gambled away just before his the police force received an anonymous tip regarding Mr. Motte's account numbers. After extensive research it was found that an offshore account was wiring money directly into Mr. Motte's account on the first of each month. The ex-billionaire is now facing several years in prison without parole."_

In the background the police were loading Motte into a squad car. But he wasn't going quietly.

_"I am innocent I tell you, innocent! I 'ave never even touched drugs, I 'ave no idea 'ow zat money got in my account! Eet waz not me! Eet waz not me!"_

His rant was cut off as the door was slammed shut.

Percy chuckled. The man would never learn.

_"More on this breaking story as it continues. Now back to Garett Krane in the studio."_

The image shifted again, this time it switched to that of a balding middle-aged man in a tailored black suit, hands folded neatly on a pristine oak desk.

_"Thank you Alica."_

Percy reached for the remote. He'd had enough of this for one day, not to mention _The Big Bang Theory_ was playing on _CBS_. Garett was talking again, nothing Percy found interesting enough to listen to, but he'd just pressed the guide button when…

_"… And there's still no word of Tony Stark. The multimillionaire went missing just three days ago during a military demonstration in Afghanistan. Search parties have been sent out, but all have come back empty-handed. In other news…"_

Percy put his head in his hands and groaned. A rich aristocrat being held for ransom, nothing of interest, that happened once every couple of months, the police could handle it. A rich aristocrat that just so happened to be the mind behind of a multimillion dollar weapons developing agency disappearing with not so much as a ransom note. That's the kind of thing that caught S.H.I.E.L.D's attention. So, when his discarded phone let out a painfully off-key ballet of _Under The Sea_, Clint's idea of a joke, he wasn't surprised in the least.

His commanding officers smooth baritone echoed through the speakers of Percy's ancient flip phone (It kept the monsters away, that was all he cared about).

_"Seen the news lately?"_

Phil Coulson had never been one for pleasantries.

"Hello Phil, still have that sense of humor, I see." He paused for a moment, but was met with nothing but silence, he huffed a sigh. "Where am I headed?"

_"Afghanistan, same base Stark disappeared from. You'll be working with Colonel Rhodes, Starks best friend and military asset. Jackson, it is imperative we find this man, his knowledge of advanced weaponry is extensive and if that were to get into to wrong hands…"_

"Understood, where do I meet you?"

He spoke in short clipped sentences. _"John F. Kennedy Airport, you have three hours, be ready."_

"Yes, sir," the leather couch made an odd squelching sound as he pulled his legs free, "so, you run out of rookies to torture, or do you just miss me that much?"

Coulson didn't so much as chuckle, _"Jackson,"_ the man let out a slow sigh, _"Stark is a person of interest, and you've found men on less. Your skills make you the best qualified for this mission. Airport, three hours, get moving."_ The line went dead.

_Was that almost a compliment?_ Percy smirked, oh, he was never going to let Phil live this one down.

His back let out several loud pops during his trek down the hall. He took a quick shower, and packed a bag, before leaving once again.

He was gonna need more coffee.

**~No Rest For The Weary~**

The roar of a motorcycle could be heard from a mile away as a sleek blue Harley-Davidson fat boy turned into the parking lot of the JFK airport. Its chrome detailing shimmering in the full moon's light.

The brakes gave a small screech as the rider pulled into a parking spot and removed his helmet. Percy ran a hand through his ruffled hair as he cut the bikes engine. He missed riding, two months of waiting and the only time he had on his bike was a lousy half-hour.

He really hated Coulson.

The lobby was large and spacious. People bustled around dragging suitcases, dodging the other patrons. Percy had to stop for a second as a rather large family came running past in matching floral print.

And in the center of it all was the one and only Phil Coulson. His stiff posture and crisp black suit standing out like a sore thumb. A white manilla folder stuck out from under his arm and two paper cups with the words _'I' Made To Recycle'_ written across the side in large green lettering. Percy smirked, Coulson may be the director's right eye, but he didn't know the definition of the word stealth.

Percy probably wasn't much better himself. While he wasn't currently dressed in his uniform with his clean pressed white button down, leather riding jacket and black dress pants. Add in the dinged up combat boots and oversized duffel bag, he must've made for quite a sight.

Coulson didn't even wait for Percy to catch up to him completely. Instead nodding for the younger man to follow him. Together the two made their way to a cluster of chairs by the baggage claim. Percy grimaced, but didn't complain, he hated airports. They were always so loud, the chairs were hard and uncomfortable, and not to mention his hatred of planes and being anywhere not on solid land or water always made him feel sick.

But that didn't stop him from taking the seat next to his superior. He didn't say a word when the man passed him the manilla folder, it was about as thick as a small book, or his plane ticket. But he did thank the man profoundly when he was handed one of the paper cups.

It was warm, steam coming out the small lip on top. Vanilla with caramel and sugar, best coffee ever.

When he pulled the cup from his lips he saw Coulson giving him a disgusted look. Granted, it was the same way his face always looked, but after spending years with the man Percy could tell.

"I'll never understand how you and Barton drink that stuff." It was almost a joke, at least it was the closest Coulson ever came to telling one.

Percy rolled his eyes, "hey, we can't all run on tea and black coffee like you and Nat."

Coulson gave no response to that, instead he jumped right back to work. "Everything you need to know is contained in that file," Coulson gestured to the manila folder resting in Percy's lap.

"Guess the small talks over."

"Better get moving," Coulson stood, picking up a briefcase Percy hadn't noticed before, "wouldn't want to miss your flight."

Percy followed the older man's example, tucking the manilla folder under his arm as he went. He gave a lazy wave over his shoulder with his coffee cup.

"See you 'round Phil."

"Jackson," Percy froze and turned back to Coulson, confusion etched clear across his face. "There's more to this than we know. Keep your eyes open and stay alert."

Coulson looked even more serious than before, Percy hadn't thought that was possible. This was bad.

"Yes, sir."

**~No Rest For The Weary~**

Afghanistan was just as Percy imagined it would be. Hot, dusty, and full of sweaty men in military uniforms.

His plane had landed on a public airstrip where he was picked up by one Colonel James Rhodes. From there they set out to the base where he was introduced to General Gabriel. Together the two filled in the details of Starks disappearance. Which, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D's research team, Percy already knew.

There wasn't much to go off. They finished the demonstration, Stark was in the first Humvee, shots were fired, a landline went off, then it all stopped. By the time the smoke cleared and they realized Stark was gone, it was already too late. They could only assume the man wasn't dead due to his background and military genius.

After that he was introduced to the team Rhodes had put together.

Together there were at least ten men and women, and while they were all introduced to him by name Percy knew he would never remember them all. Rhodey didn't talk much, at least not to him. Percy had a feeling the man didn't like him very much.

Rhodey wanted to head out to start the search the moment Percy arrived. Percy insisted they stay and look over the given evidence again before rushing into things. The other man hadn't liked that much.

So, that would be how Percy found himself in a small office. The desk overflowing with pictures and documents of Starks disappearance. Percy pushed them around, making sure to inspect every detail, while a scowling colonel leant against the door frame.

"This is nothing but a waste of time."

The other man wasn't happy. Percy could see why, he'd probably be the same way Clint or Natasha ever disappeared. But now was not the time to rush into things and overlook something important, and he told the man this. The other just scowled and turned to the window.

Percy shook his head, but otherwise ignored the man in favor of examining a photo taken at the scene. There wasn't much to go on. Several Humvees with extensive bullet damage, soldiers lying in the sand, shrapnel scattered across the ground from a rather large bomb. Besides that… nothing. He had absolutely nothing to go off of.

_"You've found men on less,"_ Percy mocked in a comically deep voice followed by a snort, "thanks a lot."

"You say something," Rhodey had turned around and was now giving him an almost amused look with a raised eyebrow.

Percy cleared his throat and shook his head, his cheeks dusted a slight pink.

"No, no…" he ran a hand through his already unruly raven locks, "I need to see the site for myself. It may turn up something new. Then we'll know where to start our search." He set the photo back on the desk with the others.

He didn't think it would, but they had to start somewhere, so why not the scene of the crime?

Coulson owed him big-time.


	3. It Just Had To Be Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark is missing and its Percy's mission to find him. With the help of Starks old friend, Colonel James Rhodes, and an elite military team they search the desert for any sign of the missing billionaire. Of course finding him is just the beginning of Percy's troubles.

_Thwump, thwump, thwump, thwump, thwump. _

The helicopter blades spun as the desert sands passed below them. Nothing but an endless ocean of yellow going on as far as the eye could see.

Sweat was beading down his neck, dripping into the heavily armed (and scorching hot), military suit they'd been required to wear. A heavy helmet pressed down on his head. It was uncomfortable, he wasn't use to such bulky equipment. As a spy he tended to dress light, less drag meant faster movement, and the faster you were the more likely you'd make it out alive.

Percy yanked the helmet off his head, his hair dripping wet, and the helicopters cramped interior wasn't helping. In total the chopper held five people. Two soldiers, the pilot, Rhodey, and himself. None of them said anything other than an introduction (not that Percy would remember their names anyways). Rhodey, who sat next to him, did little other than fiddle with his M4A1, a nervous habit Percy had noticed in their time together.

Almost a month had passed since the billionaire was taken. They'd found little to no clues and as the days went by their search became more and more desperate. It was as if the man had dropped off the very face of the Earth.

"I'd put that helmet back on if I were you," Rhodey spoke without looking up from his gun, "never know what's gonna happen out here."

They were the first words to be spoken since lift off over an hour ago.

Percy snorted, "Whatever happens I can assure you, I've survived worse."

Rhodey rolled his eyes, "Right, bet that comes with the whole secret agent gig huh?"

Percy's chapped lips pulled up into a smirk, "Yeah," he chuckled," something like that."

In the short time that they'd worked together Percy and Rhodey had become friends of sorts. They still had a tendency to butt heads and disagree on everything from weapon maintenance to breakfast cereal. But if asked they would both agree that they worked well together.

Rhodey claimed he only put up with the younger man out of loyalty to his friend and his government. Percy liked to think he was starting to grow on the other man.

A sigh sounded from the spot next to him followed by the sound of fabric against leather as the older man slumped into his seat bringing their banter to an end. When Percy's gaze wandered back to his almost friend, he wasn't at all surprised by what he saw there. It wasn't so much his slumped shoulders or the frown tugging at the corners of his lips that gave away his thoughts but the look in his eyes. Percy knew that look, he'd worn it more times than he could count. It was the look of a lost man, a man without hope.

He'd always hated that look.

Percy didn't say a word, there was nothing he could say. So instead he placed a hand on the others shoulder.

Rhodey's eyes remained fixed on the landscape below. Percy pulled his hand away, the silence stretched on.

They'd find him. He could feel it, in his gut. And he'd learned long ago to never bet against a gut feeling. He just hoped that Stark would turn up soon. Preferably before he collapsed from heat stroke.

In his time with S.H.I.E.L.D. Percy had quickly learned that he didn't do well in heat for extended periods of time. Within his first year at the agency they'd sent him and Natasha on a mission to Libya. They'd ended up on the run from enemy agents in what was reported to be the hottest summer in a hundred years. With no access to a steady water supply, things had gone south quickly.

After that the director tried to avoid sending him on missions with too much heat and too little water. This was the first time he'd been sent somewhere so…dry. They must've been truly desperate to risk sending Percy into the desert.

Coulson hadn't been kidding - not that Percy thought he was capable of something so human - there was far more to this than meets the eye.

It was in that moment he saw a plume of smoke begin to rise over the sand dunes. A dark contrast against the clear sky above. As luck would have it they were just close enough for him to make out the small rocket that soared through the air not long after. It wasn't up there long before it came falling back. But as it was going down, he could've sworn he saw flailing limbs and a head...

"Turn this bird around now!"

In response to his command the pilot swung hard to the left throwing the occupants to the side. If not for his seatbelt Percy was sure he would've been sitting in Rhodey's lap by now.

The colonel himself was trying to lean over the others in an attempt to see what had caught Percy's attention. And once he'd caught sight of the smoke, he ordered the others to be prepared for resistance.

Percy strapped on his helmet.

**~ It Just Had To Be Stark ~**

Two days after Tony Stark's announcement sent shockwaves across the world special agent Percy Jackson was walking in the doors of Stark Industries, cup of coffee in one hand keys in the other.

After they found Stark Percy had returned with him to Miami. He met Coulson at the airport. It wasn't long after that they found themselves attending a press conference orchestrated by Tony Stark himself. There he'd made an announcement that no one had seen coming.

Stark industries will no longer be manufacturing weapons.

Of course, this started a riot, the reporters went insane, and Stark was quickly ushered out. As some point Percy had lost Coulson in the shuffle. They didn't meet back up until the room had cleared out, which happened quickly, but that was long enough for Coulson to make an appointment with Starks assistant and for Percy to have a quick talk with the Director. They'd both be staying in Miami for the indeterminable future.

And so, Percy stood in front of Stark Industries in a tailored black suit and shoes that were far to shinny for his liking, a badge was pinned to his left shoulder words engraved on its golden surface...

**Head of Security**

**Theseus Jones**

He was almost positive Clint had a say in the name. Who else would saddle him with something like Theseus?

The main lobby was cold, a few people wandered around ducking in and out of doors and elevators. Most of the employees hadn't shown up yet, it was still early, with a good two hours or so before the building was set to open. Percy was stationed on level three, but first he was supposed to meet one Obadiah Stane, friend and business partner to Tony Stark himself.

Percy was supposed to keep an eye on him.

After Stark's disappearance Obadiah Stane had taken control of Stark Industries, most hadn't given it too much thought. The man had been in business with the company since it was founded, it was only natural that he run it now. S.H.I.E.L.D had never believed in coincidences.


	4. Does This Count as a Kidnapping?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the direct approach may look good on paper, but in practice...well Percy may have wanted to think this through more.

It just had to be Stark. Tony Gods damn Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, asshole of the century, and, most importantly, Perseus Jackson’s newfound pain in the ass. It had been three weeks since Starks return home and subsequent press conference revealing _Stark Industries_ new plan of business. No more weapons, a _weapons_ _company_ that no longer created _weapons, _how’s that for ironic.

Fury’s been up his ass ever since. Nagging him for more information, warning about caution and stealth. Because _“If Stark finds out what we’re doing…”_

It was almost as if Fury had no faith in his skills…

Not that Percy would really blame him at this point, because in three weeks Percy’s only figured out two things. Neither of which had been the big breakthrough they were searching for.

1) Tony Stark was an absolute _idiot_.

Sure, the man was a genius, but he also had less common sense then Clint ‘I can live off nothing but coffee and ham sandwiches’ Barton. In the short time Percy had known Stark he’d watched as the man, the mastermind behind the immediate stop on all weapons manufacturing, proceeded to create a secret (at least he thought it was secret) battle suit in his workshop. Then went on to take said battle suit out for a joy ride around Miami. Of course, he came crashing down to Earth and nearly splattered himself like a bug across the freeway fifteen minute later. Causing the media to go wild about a metal man falling from the sky, theorizing all sorts of bull about aliens and supernatural crap.

Which, of course had Furry chewing _Percy_ out (As if it was his fault!), raving about being more cautious, and that this was exactly what they were trying to _avoid. _Like _he_ could control anything Tony Stark did, was planning on doing, or would do in the future. The man was a loose cannon, and coming from Percy, the guy who’d _once blown up a volcano_, that was saying something.

2) Obadiah Stane was dirty.

There was nothing more to it than that. The man was hiding something, Percy had spent less than ten minutes with him, yet it was still glaringly obvious. But for the life of him Percy couldn't figure out what it was. He just knew the man couldn’t be trusted, and after all these years he'd learned to trust his instincts.

But of course, this information was even more useless then the first. S.H.I.E.L.D had already known Stane was up to something. Known it since the first time the man had gone up to speak about Stark’s disappearance, acting as if the billionaire was already dead.

And so, Percy had nothing. Nothing on Starks suit, nothing on Stane, nothing on the company. Zero information and completely out of ideas. Even as his head of security he couldn’t get close enough to Stark because the man spent all his time holed up in the workshop of his mansion. He’d only known about the suit after he’d hacked the security system (or if you want to get technical about it he’d called Natasha who had hacked the security system for him through a remote server, he thinks somewhere in Las Vegas, she had all the fun).

So here he was, empty handed with his last hope being the Fireman’s ball later that evening. Though no one expected Stark to make an appearance, but if there’s one thing that you can count on about Tony Stark it’s his unpredictability.

So, when a sleek silver Audi R8 screeched to a halt outside the ballroom with none other than Tony Stark behind the wheel, Percy was probably the only one not surprised (though he did seem to be one of few happy with the outcome, Obadiah Stane _not_ included). He watched as the man posed for the media, shook hands, and acted as if twenty-four hours ago he hadn’t been flying through the sky in a gaudy red and gold suit.

Percy watched as Stark greeted Stane with a bright smile and a clasped hand, the other man’s smile a bit too stiff and strained to be genuine. He followed at a sedated pace behind the billionaire (not weird, he was head of security after all) as the man waltzed into the party like he owned the place (which he probably did). For Percy his next move was obvious, stealth had failed, miserably, so in Percy’s mind his only other option was to face this problem head on. Too bad that problem was currently drawing the attention of every party goer with his first public appearance since the press conference the day of his return.

Well, time to face the music.

**~ Does This Count as a Kidnapping? ~**

_Maybe the direct approach wasn’t such a good idea._

Stark had been staring at him without blinking for the last minute and a half. Percy was actually starting to get worried; he was pretty sure this was the longest Stark had gone without talking since he met the guy. Maybe he was in shock. He supposed that suddenly finding out that the man you’ve known since childhood was a suspect in your kidnaping and that you’d suddenly found yourself on the watchlist of a branch of government that, as far as the world was concerned, didn’t exist might be a bit much to take in all at once.

…or it could be the fact that in order to have this entire conversation he’d had to kidnap him.

Percy suppressed a groan, why was _he_ stuck with this mission. Give him room full of terrorists set on blowing up the Empire State Building, child’s play. Liberating a group of mutants from Trask Industries, bring it on. Babysitting a billionaire, not one of his specialties.

That was proven further by the fact that is was now going on ten minutes and Stark still hadn’t said anything, or moved, or stopped staring at him. Frankly it was beginning to freak him out. Just as Percy was beginning to contemplate weather it was dangerous to slap someone in this kind of state Stark began to stir. He blinked and raised his finger until it was level with Percy’s eyes, his gapping like a fish but no words coming out.

He thrust his finger at the space in between Percy’s eyes, once, twice, three times before throwing his hands up and slumping back in his seat. His hands went up to cover his face.

“So,” he spoke through his hands, “you mean to tell me that you’re a secret agent?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re here because you think that me being kidnapped was ‘foul play’?”

Stark shifted in his seat just enough that he could peek out through his fingers to look at Percy’s face. Percy though he was being rather childish.

“The agency does.”

“And you, not the agency, you personally think that somehow, Obie was able to get in touch with a group of terrorists and convince them to kidnap me so that I would build them a bomb.”

Percy winced and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, “kind of?”

Stark dropped his hands from his face, sat up straight and nodded, “let me out.”

Percy scrunched up his noise and furrowed his eyebrows, “no?”

Stark scowled at him, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Percy had to admit, it was a decently threatening face, it may even have intimidated him a few years ago. That is if one of his best friends hadn’t been one Natasha Romanoff, “Let me out of this car right now!”

Percy crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, and a bit firmer this time, “no.”

“Let me out of this car right now or I’ll fire you!”

Percy snorted, “you’d fire me anyways, _I just kidnapped you_.”

“You’re insane!”

He was pulling the release handle on the door so hard Percy was worried it might break off. It was a wonder he hadn’t tried to actually unlock the door yet, there was a switch right there on his side. Percy was actually beginning to wonder how this man had reached genius status. Of course, he kept these musings to himself and instead decided to give Stark his best ‘I’m completely deranged, and I know it’ smile.

“It’s been said.”

Stark cringed away from him as much as he could in the cramped front seat.

“You can’t keep me here against my will!”

Okay, so maybe the smile was taking it a bit too far, but he felt it was justified. This man had been pushing his buttons for weeks now, gotten him in trouble with Fury not once, not twice, not even three times. Really at this point he didn’t know how many angry phone calls he’d received just to listen to Fury rant about something that Stark has done that he was now getting blamed for…

_Really not the point, really not the point. Okay Jackson think, think, say something, just calm the man down and have a civil conversation. Come on, say something! Anything!_

“Then I wonder what the point of kidnapping you was.”

_Anything but that._

Percy slumped forward into the steering wheel only to jump back abruptly when he accidently set off the horn. He didn’t turn back to Stark and chose to instead lean his arm against the window and rub his forehead.

“Sorry,” he sounded exhausted even in his own ears (he marveled over that fact that his moods could switch so abruptly), “I’m sorry, just hear me out alright. Did you ever wonder how the Ten Rings knew exact…”

“Are you even old enough to be a secret agent?”

Percy jerked away from the window and whipped around to face Stark who was staring at Percy with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. It was a face Percy had seen many times over the cameras in his lab, usually it meant that he was faced with a particularly complicated problem, personally Percy just thought he looked constipated.

“That’s no really th-.”

Stark shook his head and held up a hand in the universal stop gesture, “no, no, no, the adult is talking, you sit and listen,” he ignored Percy’s noise of indignation, “look kid, it seems you actually believe all this bullshit about Obi and the Ten Rings and all of this, but it just doesn’t seem plausible.”

Percy felt like bashing his head in on the steering wheel.

“I know Obi’s up to something, he’s trying to push me out of my own company, trying to take over, double dealing under the table. But something like this?”

“He filed the injunction against you!”

“I know that! He told me!”

Stark was on the fence, he knew something was wrong, he knew someone was after him, but he was having trouble connecting that image with the man who had helped to raise him. Took care of him after his parents’ death.

“You don’t have to believe me. You need just listen, please.” Stark still had that look on his face, studying Percy, and if Percy hadn’t been a highly trained secret agent/assassin it might have made in squirm.

Stark gave him a tiny almost unnoticeable nod and Percy let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in.

“Gulmira,” Stark tensed in the seat next to him, “Stark Industries approved a weapons shipment to be delivered last week, they arrived at roughly ten o’clock this morning. A few men associated with the Ten Rings picked them up at the drop off sight. Now how would the Ten Rings manage to get ahold of a Stark Industries approved weapons shipment.”

Stark was staring at him again, face blank, back straight, arms crossed.

“It certainly wasn’t you,” Percy continued, “because Obadiah Stane locked you out of your own company. He filed an injunction against you and not a week later the Ten Rings have their hands on Stark Industry technology. Does that sound like a coincidence? The dots are starting to connect Stark, and the picture they make is starting to look an awful lot like Stane ugly face.”

“Well, then,” Starks voice was strained, “what do you suggest we do about it kid?”

Percy let a tentative smile slip on his face, direct approach, unorthodox, but it payed off.

“Find proof, solid proof that links Obadiah Stane to the Ten Rings,” he said putting the car in drive, “and I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-one!”

Stark laughed, “see you're practically a baby!”


End file.
